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PARTI

CHAPTER1

DINARA

AGE 18

“So, how far is this place?”my cousin Natalia asks while checking her reflection in a compact mirror and reapplying a bold layer of red lipstick.

“About an hour,” I tell her, looking over at her as I adjust my dress in the limo.

“Damn.” Alisa, my best friend, sighs from across the seat, tugging at the hem of her black minidress. “That's pretty far.”

“Yeah, and Konstantin always changes the location because it’s so hush-hush.”

“Ooh, mysterious.” She grins. “Is it always in Jersey?”

“Not always.”

“I can't believe he let us come.” Natalia slips her black lace mask into place. “Think we’ll meet any hot guys there? Maybe a sexy athlete?”

I laugh. “I don’t know, but let’s stick together tonight, okay? Even though Konstantin tracks people with their masks, we don’t wanna talk to anyone sketchy.”

“These have trackers?" Alisa stares at her mask in disbelief.

“Yep. Oh, and before I forget, no bags or phones are allowed inside.”

“No phones?” Natalia looks horrified. “What the hell? I didn't know that.”

“Well, duh.” I wave a hand dismissively. “Imagine the scandal if someone snapped photos or took videos.”

“Shit,” she mutters. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“We can just leave our bags in the limo.”

“Damn, now I'm really nervous.” Alisa's foot starts bouncing.

“Hopefully, once we're inside, we’ll forget all about the nerves.”

I’m not sure if I'm trying to convince them or myself. But I wanted to do something unforgettable for my birthday. Something few people ever get to do.

When Konstantin, my oldest cousin, said it was okay, I was ecstatic. Getting out of my comfort zone is good sometimes.

As the conversation shifts to college and the guys we like, I feel my excitement growing despite the nerves.

Soon, we pull up to a nondescript industrial building. The parking lot is crowded, and a few people are already heading for the entrance, all dressed to the nines.

One would think this was an elegant party if they drove past. But looks can be deceiving.

“I’ll be here whenever you're ready to leave, Ms. Marinova,” Pavel, Konstantin’s driver, says in his thick Russian accent as he opens the limo door.

“Thanks.”

He nods as he rounds the vehicle to head back to the driver’s side, while we approach a man standing by the entrance, his red devil’s mask barely concealing his piercing gaze as he uses a wand to scan the crowd.

I stride past the others in line, Alisa and Natalia close by. A few curious eyes follow us, probably wondering who we are. If they only knew.

When the devil man sees my mask, his expression shifts. He recognizes me immediately. Mine’s unique, designed especially for me by Konstantin.